Aster fell to his knees, feeling the breath catch in his chest.
He lost.
This might be his first defeat since he began dueling. And thinking it through, he felt it should count as a complete defeat.
During the duel he hadn't felt that way; several times he thought he had a chance. At moments it even looked like he was just a hair's breadth away—that if luck tipped a little more his way, or if some small variable changed, the outcome might have been different.
He might have won.
But when he replayed the entire duel in his mind, taking the long view, considering the opponent's performance throughout, he suddenly felt that his opponent might never have even used his true strength.
Yes—like toying with him. As if the result had been decided before the duel began. What tactics he chose, how he played his cards or attacked—none of it mattered.
He would lose, because the ending was predestined.
Exactly like how all kinds of opponents had felt when they faced Aster himself up to now. In one duel after another, against every opponent—he'd barely even needed to bring out his Destiny HEROes. His attitude toward dueling had itself been one of toying.
The elusive thing called fate had always placed him on the side of the victor, yet today it seemed to have kicked him into the loser's seat for the first time. This was his first time feeling the helplessness of those he'd defeated when they stood before the behemoth of fate.
Especially now that this heavy fate had taken form—rolling in like a mountain that could not be shaken. He was pressed to the ground as if under a thousandfold gravity, almost unable to breathe.
But when he forced his head up to look at the fearsome figure, he was momentarily dazed.
They were his Destiny HEROes.
Yes, the very same four Destiny HEROes had steamrolled in a single turn—among them even his soul card, Dreadmaster…
Say what you will, that damn Revolver really can bull through. Four NTR in one turn—unheard of. A live demonstration of "we had no guns and no cannons, the enemy built them for us."
If it had been someone else, after such a brutal beatdown they might only wonder why the world allows someone to be that dirty. But Aster instead began to think about what it meant.
"See."
Kira stood before him, the four Destiny HEROes orbiting at his side.
"Your Destiny HEROes—they're mine now."
"So are you thinking this means that your socalled immutable fate with Sartorius is now on my side?"
Aster was silent.
He thought a moment, then slowly raised his head.
"Who are you?"
"As you can see, just a passerby duelist."
Kira pulled four Destiny HERO cards from the trap/spell slot of his duel disk. The holograms winked out in turn. He handed the four cards back to Aster.
Aster looked up at him in surprise.
He remembered the intel: this man loved cards like life itself. Anyone who'd lost to the Revolver never walked away with their own deck—assuming they were lucky enough to walk away alive.
It seemed the rumors weren't entirely reliable.
"I beat you—not because of fate, but simply because my tactics, my deck, my duel were stronger. That's all. Fate had nothing to do with it."
Kira said flatly.
"If you hand wins and losses over to 'fate,' then when you win it was 'inevitable,' and when you lose you were 'powerless'—as a duelist, that's as far as you'll ever get."
Kira continued.
"'Destiny HERO'? Laughable. Shackled by fate, you're only a prisoner.
Those who can break fate and carve their own path—that is who deserves to be called a hero."
Aster's heart jolted, as if struck by lightning.
The other question his opponent had posed during the duel floated back up.
What had his father been thinking when he designed the Destiny HEROes?
Was it truly his father's wish to burden them with such a crushing fate?
Once upon a time, every time he saw a new HERO his father designed, he was filled with anticipation. Their cool looks, their power—they thrilled him. Holding those cards, obtaining those HEROes, it felt like he could be one of them.
It made him feel unprecedented strength, as if he had the power to break any obstacle, to fear nothing.
When had he forgotten that feeling?
He had accepted that even HEROes weren't omnipotent; accepted that even HEROes couldn't escape the dictates of fate.
But how could he not? By Sartorius's side, he had witnessed too many times Sartorius's unfathomable power. The fates Sartorius predicted never missed, forcing Aster to believe that the future was a book already written, and all of them were merely marching along its plot mechanically.
Aster took a deep breath and stood to face the Revolver.
"Sartorius did foresee his own destruction—but that was many years ago. These last two years, he hasn't brought it up at all."
Aster stood and spoke.
"Are you trying to tell me that Sartorius has already fallen into the fate he predicted?"
"It's not for me to tell you. You were once one of the people closest to Sartorius. You must have sensed it by now."
Kira's tone was calm.
Aster said nothing.
Indeed. Thinking back, at some point Sartorius had stopped confiding in him like before. Sometimes Aster felt they'd grown distant, Sartorius less human than he used to be.
But people change. Aster himself had changed as he grew. So while the thought had crossed his mind, he'd never considered it a big deal.
Now, through this duel, the Revolver had shaken him.
He just didn't want to admit it.
"The guy telling me all this wears a mask and sits in some nameless trap deep underground," Aster said. "Why do you expect me to believe you?
For all I know, you, Revolver, are the root of the destruction in Sartorius's prophecy."
"I never said you had to believe me. Judge for yourself."
Kira smiled.
"Sartorius also foretold that you would be the key to changing his fate, didn't he? That's why he first approached you—because he knew that one day you would be crucial to his destiny."
Kira snapped his fingers.
"Don't let him down, Aster Phoenix."
Aster wanted to say more, but the world began to reel.
Startled, he stepped forward, only for the ground to drop away beneath his feet. He spun out of control, wave after wave of vertigo crashing over him.
When his feet found ground again, he focused—and discovered he was back on an empty street.
As if he'd merely had a long dream right here, without ever going anywhere.